


Following Through (Or the Lack Thereof)

by Dream_tempo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Ficlets, Just stuff, M/M, Unfinished fic dump, lots of drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 12,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/Dream_tempo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all the ficlets, drabbles, and random headcanons that have been requested, posted, or kept in deep dark corners of my computer for far too long. </p><p>Mostly little things that I love to re-read, but have little inclination to extrapolate on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Ficlets Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just kind of posting them in heaps, gathered whatever way makes sense. None of them are crossovers, but there's gonna be stuff from a few different fandoms, so feel free to sift through and find whatever you want. 
> 
> Warnings differ from fic to fic, but I'll let y'all know where and what they are. 
> 
> First up is a half-finished 12 Days of Christmas Ficlets Challenge. I got sick and never finished, so.... :P  
> They're all ridiculous and unbeta'd and sappy, but I like most of them quite a bit so, here they are. The fandom/pairing switches in rounds of threes. Sterek fics are 1,4, and 7. Destiel's 2 and 5. Marcus/Esca is 3 and 6.

**1\. Shiver**

“You cannot be serious.”

“What?”

“You do understand the concept of winter right? There’s gotta be some part of you that gets that it’s currently 43 degrees out.”

“So?”

All Stiles can manage after that is sputtering indignation as he gestures to Derek’s shirtless chest. Not that it’s not appreciated, but a guy would think that snow and ice would at the very least demand adjusting the dress code to include shirts. “Are the quivering pecs supposed to intimidate me, because I don’t think they’re having quite the affect that you want them to. 

Derek doesn’t even react this time, choosing instead to pull his phone out of his pocket (at least he’s wearing pants, yeesh) and check the time. “I thought you told everyone to show up around six?”

“Ya, well you know how excellent the pack is at following simple directions.” It had gotten dark over an hour ago, the only source of light coming from the rather pathetic strands of icicle lights Stiles had managed to staple gun to the crumbling roof of the Hale house. Derek’s backlit, leaning against the hood of the jeep, the eerily stark landscape making him stand out against the night. 

He’s… distracting, and Stiles can’t help but stare, never having had much self-control in the first place, but when faced with this- “Hey, creature feature! Your stoicism might be an asset elsewhere, but right now I’m fairly certain if your nipples tighten up another centimeter they’ll pop right off.” Stiles might maybe, possibly, just at glancing notice be a little thrilled about the role reversal as he slips off his red hoodie and throws is at Derek’s face, pleased for once to be on the other side of the emasculation. 

Derek simply scowls at the jacket, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like it’s particularly offensive, and it seems as though he’s about to throw it right back when a shrill wind whistles through the trees, and no matter how hard he tries, can’t help the violent shiver that travels up his shoulders. 

Stiles only just manages not to laugh, smothering it beneath his hand and innocently looking everywhere but at Derek as the werewolf hunches his shoulders in defeat and shrugs on the meager protection. He throws Stiles a nasty look anyway when it’s too small to actually zip up. “If you tell anyone about this I will personally wolf out, stalk over to you house, and pee on everything you love.” 

If it had come from any other person, that might have just been entertaining and hilarious, as it is, Stiles is careful to keep his mouth tightly shut for the rest of the night. 

It may or may not be worth it when, as he leaves later that night, a quiet thank you is murmured that he’s certain he wasn’t supposed to hear. 

**2\. Mistletoe**

It’s been difficult, loving someone.

Throughout all these years, all these things that Dean has experienced, he has never once loved someone like this. Sure, he loved his mother, his father, Sam, but this- this was something utterly and completely out of his element. He’s not sure whether it would be any different if it were just any old person, the perfect semblance of average as opposed to “an angel of the lord.”

If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t think it would be. Still, there’s something to be said for having to teach each other how to even _be_ in love. The affectionate touches, the pet names, the easy smiles, just don’t come naturally to either of them, and even though he’s happy to do it, some days seem more like a struggle than anything else. It’s the best thing he’s ever had, but he has no idea how to just sit back and enjoy it the way that he should.

He’s desperate not to bring it to ruin, trying the very best he can manage, and yet, they have yet to even kiss. Sometimes he looks at Cas, that slight quirk of his head, those grim lips, the overwhelming blue of his eyes, and he can see himself doing it- just walking right up, grabbing his chin with one hand and his hair with the other, and just giving in. He imagines that burst of warmth in his chest, the hesitance and confusion before they sink into it, the way their breaths will start to get short, but then it’s all just too much and he panics.

Somehow all of this adds up to him, freezing his balls off as he walks back to the motel, damp paper bag in hand containing the only piece of mistletoe within miles. He’d found it in a gas station of all places, drooping, broken, and pathetic, the last bit left so close to the holidays. He’s not even sure where he got the idea, what possessed him to think that this was the answer to his problems. He wants- has to believe that there’s some kind of loophole in his crooked psyche that’ll allow this, that’ll make it all okay if he can just give himself an excuse to get off the ground.

When he gets back to the room all that’s left of him a bundle of nerves, stomach churning, heart stuttering, breath thin. He tells Sam to take a hike, gruff, angry- his automatic default. The other man must see what’s beneath it all though, only offering a short nod and a light clap on the back before slinging on a jacket, taking the keys, and making himself scarce. Dean is thankful for it.

It takes a handful of laps around the room, more beers, and even more false starts before he gets up the courage to take the sad, little sprig out of its bag, made worse by the cold, and tie it to the ceiling fan with a length of twine. After this, there’s no going back. This is his one shot, the best that he can come up with, and he hopes it’s enough. When he turns his back to the open space he shakes his arms out, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and prays. Not thirty seconds goes by before he hears the tell-tale flutter of wings and all at once, the air rushes out of him.

“Hello, Dean.”

His mouth is dry, his hands are shaking, he feels like he might puke. He wants this, wants to be able to hold Cas, to kiss his shoulders, his neck, his lips- to _be_ with him and show him the thousand and one ways that they can make each other happy. He’s gotten this far-

He opens his eyes, turns on his heel, leans forward, and leaps.

 

**3\. Secret Santa**

Is it possible to want to throttle someone and kiss them senseless at the same time?

You think that it has to be. Standing in front of your locker, heart racing at a humming bird’s pace, you can’t decide if it’s because you’re furious or flattered. There’s a small box nestled between your books, wrapped in candy apple red paper, a neat white bow placed directly in the center. It’s the third gift in as many days that’s mysteriously shown up- each one signed by the customary Secret Santa, and you find yourself hating the tradition and the fact that your teacher’s forced it upon their student body

Each and every one of them have been sweet, thoughtful, completely and utterly perfect, and it’s starting to freak you out. Until now you had thought there wasn’t a soul on this earth that could know you so well, that could see through all the walls that you’ve carefully built. Then, despite it all, one shows up, and they’re playing some kind of sadistic game, holding out the promise of understanding and comfort, but never coming forward to let you actually claim it.

You know, in the more rational part of yourself, that this is made out to be romantic and playful and endearing, but all it makes you want to do is scream. You’ve been standing here, stock still, for nearly ten minutes, just trying to decide whether to ignore the little gift, rip into it with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm, or toss it in the trash on your way to class. In the end, you’re just as cowardly as they are, unable to make a stand, and gently snatch it from the books, close your locker, and go to sit in the stairwell and open it in private.

Lifting the white, cardboard lid with a kind of reverence, you draw in a sharp breath, feeling stupid because you can’t even see what’s inside yet. On the top of a small square of tissue paper, there’s a note, handwritten, just some black ink on blue lines, but your hands quake with anticipation when you reach for it. The script is careful, neat, but undoubtedly belonging to a teenaged boy. “I know it’s not the real thing, but perhaps, for now, it’ll do.” Involuntarily, your lips pull into a small smile and you set the paper aside, more gentle than you have to be.

Peeling back the tissue, you can’t help but let out a short bark of laughter, closing your eyes and covering your mouth for a few seconds before looking back in. There’s a whole stack of temporary tattoos- cartoon characters, tramp stamp butterflies, faux tribal designs. You’ve seen the machines all around town, gumballs, mints, rubber balls, stickers and tattoos, all for a quarter. You let your head fall against the wall, fighting to contain the warmth spreading through your chest, thinking that he must have driven to every dollar store, mall, and arcade within a twenty mile radius with a sack of quarters to get this many.

At the very bottom, there’s one bigger than all the rest- you can see the sides sticking out beneath all the others. You can’t decipher what it is, and so you dig it out, spilling a few over the sides. It’s got to be custom, had to have been designed and ordered online, because there is no way in hell that there’s a prize machine out there that sells tattoos spelling out Esca McCunoval in blue, Celtic calligraphy. It’s almost too much, you have to bite your lip and pinch the bridge of your nose to keep from getting misty eyed, and you feel foolish for acting that way.

The late bell rang something like fifteen minutes ago, but it still takes you a few minutes to pack it all way, compose yourself, and remember where you’re supposed to be. You wipe furiously at your eyes before entering, just to make sure, and school your features into cool detachment. At the sound of the door clicking closed, the whole class turns to stare anyway, thirty pairs of eyes glued to you, examining every inch.

The only one not staring you down is that beefy, sasquatch of a boy- Marcus. Staring pointedly out the window, throwing the most unsubtle glances out of the corner of his eyes, you find yourself staring, until the teacher snaps a yardstick against the desk and jerks you back into motion. Whatever he was doing, you just write it off as another one of his many quirks. Kid isn’t half-bad looking, but he always acts so strange whenever you’re around…

 

**4\. Candy cane**

It should be illegal- a boy like that, with lips like those, sucking on the pointed end of a peppermint stick.

He’d walked in ten minutes ago, the tip of his upturned, button nose the most endearing shade of pink, horn-rimmed glasses fogged over, teeth chattering. Your brain had short circuited the second he came up to the cash register and the moisture cleared to reveal the warm amber of his eyes. He’d had to actually snap his fingers in front of your face to get your attention, but instead of scowling and spewing irritated profanities, he just smiles lazily and blathers on about the snow making everyone a little slow-moving.

You hardly register a word he speaks beyond that and the order for a small Caramel Crème Brule Latte. You were far too busy counting the moles dotting his face and watching the tips of his eyelashes catch on his thick lenses. You have to make the drink twice, spilling it all over yourself the first time when he _moans_ upon the sight of it. You’d thought you were going to die of embarrassment, finally understanding what Laura had meant all these years, calling you socially inept, but he just brushed it all off, smiled wider, ducked his head, fluttered those doe eyes.

This time of year every hot drink, ordered to stay, came with a small stick of peppermint instead of a spoon, and at the time you honestly hadn’t thought anything of placing one in his cup just like anyone else’s. Now, wiping down the same spot on the counter for the past ten minutes, trying to subtly adjust yourself, you’re severely regretting the oversight. He honestly doesn’t notice, seems to have no idea that most the women, and a handful of the men, in this coffee shop are lingering on every little swipe of his tongue.

Sitting in the corner of the building, paperback held open with one hand while the other alternates between stirring his drink, and bringing the candy up to his _sinful_ mouth, now stained an utterly ridiculous shade of red, he’s in his own world. You formulate a dozen different ways to go up there and talk to him- offer a complimentary mini-muffin, ask about his book, comment on the bob of his head and the tap of his foot to the custom playlist you’re broadcasting over the speakers- but that’s as far as you get. There’s not many things you’re scared of, but for some reason, he’s one of them. You have a pretty elaborate idea of just what you want him to be in your head by now, and if-- when he turns out to be absolutely nothing like it, you’re not sure that you can handle it.

So you stay away, let the dreams of what he might have said back, how he might have laughed, touched the inside of your arm, licked into your mouth and tasted like a candy cane, be just that. He only stays for a little over a half hour, waving at you before leaving, and animatedly rubbing his stomach by way of compliment. You tell yourself that you’re not disappointed when he just leaves, that you’re not sulking around the shop the rest of the evening, and that you don’t ache when you climb into an empty bed at the end of the night.

You don’t dream of him making breakfast for the both of you, wearing nothing but an apron around his waist, sleepy eyed and overly affectionate. You most certainly don’t keep an eye out for him throughout the whole day, and you don’t toss out the whole basket of peppermint in frustration. Nope. That would be melodramatic.

You shrug your coat on a little rougher than necessary, grumbling to yourself and switching off the lights before stepping outside and locking up. And if, in the wildest of circumstances, he just so happens to be waiting there, shy and sweet and little bit scared, asking if you’d like to grab a bite to eat, well you might, just maybe, in a hypothetical situation, smile like a loon, nod overenthusiastically, duck your head as your ears burn and your heart skips a beat and your stomach flips, and then rush in to kiss him quiet.

He might also smell like vanilla and taste like molasses and let out a sigh that sounds like sifting sugar.

 

 **5\. Naughty or Nice**                                                                                                                                                                       

There are some things that you really just don’t think through.

There didn’t used to be that many of them, until you and Cas became… well, you and Cas. Now, instead of just all the usual, little common sense things that sometimes escaped you, it’s all this stuff you never imagined. On St. Patrick’s day when you’d taken him bar crawling and he couldn’t understand why everyone was claiming to be Irish, on Halloween when you’d brought him to a haunted house and he’d nearly attacked the actors in costume, on Thanksgiving when he retold the thousand ways the Native Americans had been slaughtered and didn’t think it was appropriate to celebrate genocide.

You should have known, really you should have seen it coming, but here you are, Christmas Eve with the house to yourselves, all dressed up in a “Sexy Santa” suit you’d gotten just for the occasion, and he’s just look at you with a mix of confusion and hurt in his eyes. “I know that I have failed you in far too many ways throughout our past, but I really did believe that I had done better this year. I don’t want to be a naughty boy, Dean.” He doesn’t say it the same way you did, all quirked eyebrows and low voice and teasing hands. He says it like it’s the severest condemnation, looking down at his hands in his lap and squirming in his seat.

“Cas… that’s not- that’s not what I meant.” You rub at your face and shake off the remaining tendrils of arousal before taking off your hat and coming to crouch down in front of him, letting out a tired sigh. It takes a few long seconds to catch his eye, a gentle smile before he’ll let you put your fingers beneath his chin to lift. “I was just being stupid- it’s a… a-uh…” You can feel your face heat up, but you can’t look away, not yet, and so you just soldier on. “It was a sex thing, Cas.”

It takes close to a full minute to sink in, his blank stare fading as his eyes widen and his eyebrows raise. “Oh.” It’s soft and quiet, and already you can see the brief flash of interest skirting away beneath embarrassment and shame. “You wanted to be Sensuous Santa Clause and spank me again.” He starts to shrink back and though all you want to do is bury your head in the sand until everything blows over in the morning, you know he’ll stew over it for a whole week if you let him. “Sorry.”

He looks away from you, turns to get out of the chair and skulk away, but you catch his chin again, carefully but firmly pull him back, and stand to straddle his chair, wiggling down onto his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a good boy.” You lean in, brush your noses together, touch your foreheads. “I’ll just have to figure out some kind of _reward_ instead of a punishment.

He gets this one quicker, eyes lighting up when he realizes that the moment hasn’t been lost yet. His hands come up to skirt your ribs, a small quirk to his lips as his breathing quickens. “Actually, I was thinking… maybe _I_ could do the-“ His ears flush red and his pupils dilate, but he doesn’t finish the sentence, instead biting his lip as his hands slowly move down and back to pointedly pat your ass.

It feels like some kind of Christmas miracle come early, and lord are you thankful for it. Offering up a shit-eating grin, you throw your arms around his neck, grind against his tenting erection and give him your best bedroom eyes. “Well that can be arranged…”

 

**6\. Baby It’s Cold Outside**

It’s all too sugary sweet for you to handle, and yet you can’t convince yourself that you’re not enjoying every single second of it.

That’s pretty much the only way that you can sum up everything that’s happened with Marcus these past few months, most especially this whole night. You’re still just as sarcastic and rude and teasing as when you first met, but there’s absolutely no heat to it- you can’t stay mad at him longer than a handful of seconds. He just… _takes_ it, all of it, and then turns around and kisses you and calls you silly. It’s really and truly ridiculous, but you might, maybe, kinda, sorta love him for it.

Laying back to front on the thrift store couch, head pillowed on his arm, swathed in quilts and throws while the television snowed softly to the side, you were inclined to tell him. You haven’t said it to anybody, not in a long time, and you don’t want to be the first one to do it now. It’s too much, too fast and it’s got you panicking. This isn’t… this isn’t something that you _do._ You’ve never stayed with someone this long, never thought yourself capable of this intense emotion. You have to leave, just for a little while, get out in the cold and get your head together. You don’t care that it’s Christmas Eve, that it’s nearly white-out conditions, that all you want is to burrow deeper and fall asleep to the sound of his heavy breathing.

You push all that back and pull away, not looking back because you know that he’ll have that ridiculous puppy dog pout of his on his face, and you don’t know if you’ll have the strength to deny it. “Where you goin’?” His voice is husky, a little slurred, like he was just starting to doze off before you moved. It tugs at your heart… and a little lower too, but you’re resolute, start pulling on your boots, gloves, a jacket.

“I’ve… got to go away. There’s just some stuff I gotta take care of.” You had hoped to make it out before he really knew what was going on, before he’d had a chance to try and make you stay, but you can hear him stumbling off the couch, taking half the bedding with him. You’re just about to reach for the door, everything left untied, unzipped, half-on, just to try and make it, when his arms wrap around you and rests his chin on the top of your head. You used to hate it when he did that, now it just makes you feel safe.

“Can’t go. ‘S too cold outside babe.” He lets his head slide down to nose at your jaw, pressing lazy kisses against your skin the whole way there. “Come back t’ bed.” He starts pulling at all the extra layers, hands clumsy and wandering. “We c’n… you know.” At this he rolls his hips, breathing hotly inside your ear. It makes you tremble, makes you arch into his touch, makes you curse.

“I- ohhh god- I really… can’t stay.” He doesn’t pay you any mind, just keeps stripping you down, literally and metaphorically, and starts walking you back to the couch, half-hard against your back. “Marcus, I h-have to go.”

“Nuh-uh.” He falls back onto the couch, trying to pull you with him. His sweats are riding low, his shirt is hiked high, his eyes are half-lidded, and you can see that he’s already at full mast. ”C’mere baby- want you so bad.” He’s still holding on to your fingertips, massaging them gently, a genuine, caring need beneath the lethargic lust. You don’t know what to say to that, how to cut through it, cut yourself free. He pulls on you, brings you forward so he can hold you by the hips, thumbs sweeping across your skin and dipping beneath your waistband. “Gonna show you how much I love you.”

You freeze, breath catching high in your chest and making you wince. That’s—he-- you can’t quite process it. You’re not sure if he meant what you think he did, if this is _the_ confession, or just heated words. He pulls you again, this time managing to get you down with him, and he’s holding you close, pressing your foreheads together. His hands come down and cup at your ass, one of his legs pushes between yours. “Wanna make love to you.” It’s stupid and cheesy and just all around awful. You should be pushing him away, kicking at his shins and laughing in his face.

But you don’t.

Marcus- he doesn’t say things like that. Outside the heat of the moment he’s the shyest, most virginal man you’ve ever met. He can tell, maybe knew it all along, was waiting for the one moment when you were vulnerable enough to not actively fight against it. He _knew._

“Show me.”

**7\. Snowball Fight**

It’s kind of ridiculously hard to best werewolves at… well, anything, but this in particular was a pretty bad idea.

Hunkered down behind a snow bank, listening to the utter and complete carnage going on around you, you can’t do anything but burrow further down. It was supposed to be fun, a nice way to cool tensions, relax, enjoy the season. Now you’re pretty sure your whole torso is going to be covered in welts for the holidays and you may lose a few brave fingers and toes to frostbite.

The whole pack was reluctant at first, “No time for games Stiles!”, but once the first volley was thrown, hell broke loose. Supernatural strength and speed combined with a special brand of competitive spirit and mercilessness drove this way beyond the little outing you had planned. You’re pretty sure Isaac’s down with a broken arm (for now), moaning like a dying man in the middle of the clearing. Boyd’s taken to the trees- all guerilla tactics and remarkable precision. Erica’s the fiercest kamikaze you’ve seen in your whole life and you can just hear her egging everyone on a couple hundred feet away.

Scott abandoned you something like twenty minutes ago- deciding Allison’s well-being was worth more than your own. Rude. You haven’t seen Jackson since he jumped on your back and made you eat snow- only backing off when faced with Lydia’s wrath. They’re probably minutes away from pretty intense hate-sex in the woods. Derek’s the only unknown, and that scares you more than you’d like to admit.

Dollars to doughnuts he’s out stalking, waiting for the right moment to peg you with the dreaded yellow snowball. He’s got the ruthlessness to do it, had the time to retreat and prepare the unholy weapon, and you’re certainly on his list. You just pray that someone’s got to him first, or that he might have lost interest, but in your heart of hearts you know better.

You won’t be able to hear him, won’t be able to see him, but you’ve readied yourself- last words spoken, goodbyes silently said, a palm full of slush so you don’t go down without a fight. It’s only a few minutes later before Isaac goes silent, Erica after him, and you _know._ You take a deep breath, shut your eyes, and-

The wall around you crumbles- ice and snow vaporized when he breaks the line, roaring in triumph, wolfed-out features making him all the more ferocious. You throw yourself, quite literally, to the wolves, surprising him, and mange to dump the slush down the back of his neck, laughing maniacally. It’s quite the victory, for the spare seconds he allows a cry of anguish, but then he’s on you, tackling you to the ground and pinning your wrists with one hand.

He’s straddling your stomach, watching with a terrible kind of glee as you squirm and wriggle, but can’t break free. His pointed ears have turned a bright red, but the light fur has kept the blush from his cheeks. The more you wriggle, the longer he waits to deal out your death, the more the mood starts to shift. The grin drops away from his face as his eyes track your every movement, lingering every time you wet your lips. Slowly, jerking like his joints have rusted over, he lowers himself down, leans over you.

Your heart is pounding and for the first time since this started you feel warm. You can’t catch your breath and every time the cloud of it reaches his face, his eyelashes flutter and his eyes glow. He can’t close his mouth around his fangs, gaping instead as you get closer and closer together. Your wrists slip through his grip and one of your hands involuntarily comes up to run through the thick hair along his jaw. He leans into it, a rumbling quite akin to a purr coming from his chest.

Your eyelids are stuttering closed, you can _feel_ his skin just centimeters from yours. You suck in a sharp breath and just at the moment you’re sure he’s going to connect--

The both of you are buried in snow. This reeks of Lydia’s doing. 

 


	2. Tumblr Request 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower on tumblr asked me for-- "Sterek- smutty club sex? possibly?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what came up. It may or may not have been a precursor to my Shameless AU.... :P
> 
> Anyways! There's a little cross-dressing in this one and some heavy petting. ;)

 

He’s been staring at you from across the room all night, staring unabashedly while nursing a dark drink and leaning over the railing on the balcony. 

You try and ignore him, keep dancing like there’s no one else in the world, but tonight that doesn’t work. There’s something about the weight of his gaze, the way he sees nothing but you. Erica and Lydia notice the difference in you immediately and quirk all too similar eyebrows in question, not bothering to try and talk over the pulsing music. 

You just wave them off and the both of them share a look before shaking their heads and heading deeper into the crowd. You stay right where you are, throwing yourself into the music, illuminated by a thin shaft of light that comes in through a skylight- a street light bathing your skin in yellow. 

Every so often you glance up to see is he’s still watching and your eyes catch each other. You bite your lip every time it happens, and the corner of his mouth twitches as though he wants to smile. But he never does. 

It happens just like this, for over an hour, until one time to look up and he is gone. You’re surprised to find yourself disappointed and you no longer really that interested in the bodies pressing up against you, the music beating against your temples. The color almost seems to have drained from the club. 

You’re ready to leave, knowing Erica and Lydia have probably already left you behind to hit up some place more interesting, or more private, when a strong pair of hands wrap around your hips and pull you close. 

Your first reaction is to flail as much as possible and hopefully slip out of the hold, but then a pair of lips is pressed to your temple and a surprisingly deep voice is growling into your ear. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.” The hands once at your hips are now sliding beneath the waistband of your skinny jeans and the voice is chuckling once it discovers the cotton panties underneath. “You have no idea the kind of things you do to me.”

You practically melt into the warm body behind you and turn your head, catching the stranger in a fierce kiss, not caring that you’re being felt up by a potential psycho. The man is gorgeous and fondling you right there on the dance floor, and for some reason that just feels so… natural. 

When you break the kiss he stares into your eyes with such intensity that he’s practically getting you off with his eyes, and you flush at the thought of what he must believe about you. He probably looks at you like prey, seeing a young, inexperienced kid- easy to seduce, easier to man handle like this. But fuck if you care, closing your hands around his wrists as he continues to bring you closer and closer to the edge, your eyes fluttering closed when he bites down on your jaw. 

He’s just as hard as you are, the length of him pressing into your back as he rubs himself against you for some kind of friction.

It’s quick, dirty, undignified, probably illegal, and everything you could have wanted. If he chooses to keep you or throw you back afterwards, well, you’ll still have this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just in case you were wondering, I'm dream-tempo over at tumblr. You should all come follow me and throw me a request if you feel like it. I luuurvz filling prompts.


	3. Tumblr Request 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower asked for-- "How about some angst/sad stiles? Maybe he’s been kicked out of the pack and is really depressed?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I death!ficced. It's kinda depressing so....

 

When you get the call it’s not a crippling sadness, an overwhelming fear, or even a consuming anger that takes control, but instead this emptiness that leaves you numb and silent. 

You are silent.

Your friends are silent. 

The house is silent.

You wonder if, at first, it’s just the shock settling in, but the click of the telephone when you hang up is audible enough.

They all already know what happened without you saying anything- you can see it in their eyes, read it in their expressions, feel it in their stillness. No one rushes forward to steady you, know one apologizes, no one tries to act normal. 

Instead it’s as if time has stood still and you’re all just waiting for the Earth to continue turning. But you don’t know if it ever will. I doesn’t seem like something that should be possible. 

Slowly, you turn from them and head upstairs, aware that you’ll only have a few moments before the police sirens break through this veil that’s been thrown over all of you.

Your steps are even as you make your way to his room. You take the picture of the two of them, smiling through a kiss from his nightstand. You take his worn-out jacket, the only one he’d wear in the fall, and the box of her things he kept in his closet that he didn’t think you knew about. You take the dog-eared copy of  _Don Quixote_  that always sat on top of his bookshelf instead of inside it and you take the glasses neatly folded beside the book. You let your eyes sweep over the room before you decide you are content with it. 

Next you cross over to yours and grab the duffel under your bed that you’d kept packed for emergencies. You leave your laptop, you leave your clothing, you leave books and movies, games and puzzles, photos and trinkets. It takes but a moment to shut the door and leave that room behind. 

You make a quick stop at the bathroom to steal the half-empty bottle of his cologne and to grab your pills before heading back to the bottom of the stairs. Derek is waiting for you at the bottom and everyone else has disappeared. You figure they’re just out of sight, but not far away enough to miss a single word you might say. 

But you don’t speak, you’re not sure when you will again. Instead you take his outstretched hand and clench it tightly as he leads you from the house. 

When you look back at it, it’s no longer a home. Not really. 

You get in his camaro- the jeep cannot come- and settle in the passenger seat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at you, keep his spare hand on the gear shift as he drives. He drives and he drives and he drives. 

You knew it would happen eventually, your dad was still a cop after everything else, but after all the years spent trying to get him to eat healthier, and the nights wondering if he’d be affected by your involvement in the supernatural, you’d somehow never thought he’d be killed in the line of duty. Something so routine as a traffic stop gone horribly wrong and that was it. 

The end of him, the end of you, the end of the Stilinski name. 

It’s not yours, not really. The two of them kept it, you feel this in your bones. So you decide you don’t want to pass it on, don’t want it for yourself. It ended with them. 

You’re part of something different now, and though it will always be a part of you, you have to choose between letting it go or drowning in it. 

You choose to keep going. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt me, follow me, ask me inappropriate questions-- dream-tempo.tumblr.com 
> 
> You know you want to. ;)


	4. Fanart Ficlet 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. Kid!fic. Run fast, run far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I've tried finding the original artist, but all I have is their URL from way back when which is no longer active and has no follow-through to a new one. I tried reverse image searching but came up with bupkis. I'll post the image that accompanies this story at the end, but know that it's not mine. I would LOVE anyone who found the artist again for me so I could link them to it.

 

Derek had long since gotten used to the fact that the other children in town would never like him, would always be afraid. Sometimes it made him angry, made him want to run away and never look back, but most days he just accepted it with a quiet stoicism that really shouldn’t have fit a child of twelve so naturally. 

His parents had told him how hard it would be, the only were child in school full of humans, but he’d been determined to go, to be the first Hale child that didn’t have to be home-schooled. He was aware of the way the other kids stared at his furred ears, gaped at the fangs that were beginning to grown in, but it didn’t much bother him like it would most children his age. 

At first, he had been the center of attention, the target for all the mean kids who needed an outlet for their frustrations. But lately all that focus had shifted to another boy, just a grade younger than him.  He was small and skinny, and used to be constantly running about with an energetic buzz. 

But then his mother had died over the summer and when he came back to school for the fall, his once bright eyes were somber, and all that hyperactivity had faded away into a silent distraction. He still couldn’t concentrate on anything, but instead of asking thousands of questions and tinkering about with everything in arm’s reach, he seemed out of focus, in a daze. 

He meandered the playground, crouching to pick idly at the grass, watching the clouds roll across the sky, finding a fascination in the way that a bug was crawling across the ground. For weeks it was just this numb-ness that had all the faculty and students giving him a wide berth, walking on egg shells all around him. 

Then came the crying. He’d drift off, go far away somewhere for a while, and when he snapped back into the present he’s just start to cry. It wasn’t the loud, ugly, sobbing that one would expect, but this never ending flow of tears that left him blind and inconsolable. 

And as children were wont to do, they singled him out for it and began to tease, trying to see who could get him to cry first. Derek would have been glad for the reprieve on his part, if not at the expense of someone he thought to have such a tender soul. 

At first it confused him, this sympathy he had for a kid he barely even knew, but when he told his parents about it, they’d given him this knowing smile and sat down with him to discuss the workings of his inner wolf. He’d learned all about his extra senses- these gut feelings he’d start to get more and more frequently as he grew older and more in tune with the beast inside. 

Whenever he looked at the boy, he just got this feeling of peace, of gentleness. It made him think of warm summers and sweet honey and that hazy, filtered light that filled the room when he hid in a fort made of blankets. So he’d decided one afternoon that he’d just have to be the other boy’s friend, since no one else could. 

Derek hadn’t seen him on the playground for the last few days and so he went back inside to search for him, telling the recess aide that he’d needed to use the bathroom. Once inside, he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, listening for a familiar voice, thinking maybe even he could recognize the other boy’s heartbeat if he wanted it bad enough. 

Laura had said it was supposed to be easier to find someone when you felt that kind of connection that he’d described to his family, that you were sort-of in tune with them. It had sounded stupid to him at the time, but now as he breathed deep and perked his ears, waiting for something anything, he hoped for it to be true. 

And then, he felt a tug, tight and sharp in the center of his chest. He didn’t particularly smell something, or hear something, but he just  _knew_  where to go. It was both scary and exciting at the same time and he couldn’t quite keep back the smile that broke across his lips.

Derek made a bee-line for the library at the center of the school, trying his best to look nonchalant whenever he passed an adult in the halls, or walked by a full classroom. When he finally got there, his heart was beating a little faster than normal and his skin felt flush, but through the windows he could see the boy sitting on the floor, stacks of books all around him. 

For the first time in a while, he looked… okay. He kept switching between picture books, chapter books, and encyclopedias, but he wasn’t far away, and he wasn’t crying. That made it all worth it for Derek, but he wanted to get closer, wanted to know his name. 

So he scanned the room for anyone that might think him a trouble maker, and when he came to the conclusion that the boy was alone, he snuck in as quietly as he could manage. As he crept closer and closer, he couldn’t stop his tail from wagging wildly behind him and he felt just like pouncing on him. 

But that was one of those things he’d had to remember that humans didn’t do to each other, though him and Laura wrestled like that all the time. Instead he walked up behind him, and nudged his back with a foot, smiling as wide as he could. “Hey, hi!” 

On what seemed like pure instinct, the other boy let out a shrill squeak and rolled into a ball, covering his face with his hands. Derek couldn’t help the pout that came over his face or the little pit of disappointment that sat heavy in his stomach because while he knew the other boy wasn’t like him, couldn’t feel their connection, he had still hoped that somehow they’d just click. 

He schooled a smile back onto his face, this time with less teeth, and crouched down beside the boy, placing a tentative hand on his back. “Please don’t hide your face…. I think we could be friends.” It took a few tense seconds, but eventually the boy began to uncurl himself, and hesitantly lifted away his hands. 

His eyes were wide and curious, a deep brown that had Derek staring more than he probably ought to. “You want to be  _my_  friend?” His voice was quiet, but definitely hopeful. “Why?”

Derek just shrugged and took this as an invitation to sit with him. “I like you.” That might not be the whole truth, but he knew about white lies already and figured it would be okay to wait until later to tell the boy all about his wolf. “What’s your name?”

“Stiles. Well, that’s not my name, but I like it a lot better.” Stiles smiled at him tentatively, lips quivering as though they hadn’t been used like that for a long time. It’s nice. 

“Can I stay here with you, Stiles?”

“… well, I was gonna take a nap…” Stiles ducks his head and smiles sheepishly, surely expecting more jabs for being a “baby”. Derek thinks it’s a great idea. 

“Okay.” Stiles flashes another of his quivering, almost-smiles before laying down. Derek nervously shuffles closer before laying beside him, mimicking his position. His tail makes lazy patterns on the carpet and he can feel something like a purr building in his chest. 

Slowly, he reaches out to the body in front of him and places his arms around Stiles’ sides. When the other boy doesn’t show any signs of protest Derek lets his head droop forward until it’s resting on Stiles back. It’s been awhile since he slept in the middle of the day, remembering back to the times when the younger members of the pack would huddle together and sleep in a big pile he thinks about how much he used to love it. 

For the first time in a long time the both of them feel safe, and they sleep. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me. Encourage me to stay away from kid!fic. Make me write all your favorite kinks and tropes. dream-tempo.tumblr.com
> 
> Doooo iiiiit.


	5. Tumblr Request 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower requested-- "Stiles thinks he is not part of the pact and feels left out but Derek gets possessive when other packs/alphas try to get stiles to join them"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real short. Real stupid. Uhm... ya.

“Stiles, what the  _hell_  are you doing?” The teen is not-so-subtly lounging against the bar with a ridiculous grin on his face and his flirty eyelashes turned up to about eleven. 

“Oh, nothing just chatting with Mark here, he’s an electrician. ‘Mark’ is a beefy looking guy, about Derek’s age who’s about three inches shorter, but has about ten pounds more muscle. The look in his eyes is downright predatory and the once-overs he’s giving Stiles leave nothing up to interpretation. 

“ _Mark_  is a werewolf!” 

“Wait- what?!” It takes a moment for the information to sink in before Stiles looks the proper amount of concerned and then he’s licking his lips from nervousness instead of a misplaced sense of sexual flattery. 

Instead of answering him, Derek just grabs his elbow and pulls him close, wrapping an arm down and around his chest. “Stiles is accounted for, Mark.” He practically spits the other man’s name and without warning leans down and kisses Stiles so filthily it has the kid whimpering. 

The other man growls, tensing as though he is prepared to fight for Stiles’ hand or something, but the second he sees the way the two of them are still staring at each other, he freezes in his place. Still, he manages a withering glare before he grabs his jacket from the bar stool and storms out. 

“I thought you didn’t want me in the pack. You know, fragile, useless human and all that.” Derek just shakes his head and tips Stiles head up by his chin. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream-tempo.tumblr.com Where the magic happens.... or more accurately where the sleep deprivated insanity happens.


	6. Tumblr Request 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower requested-- "derek takes care of stiles after stiles is hurt"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried humor.... it got ugly.

“Ow, ow, fuck-ety  _ow_! Nothing has ever hurt this bad before!” Stiles is laying sprawled across the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes dramatically and groaning as loudly and pathetically as possible. 

“Shut up Stiles, you just twisted your ankle.” Derek’s in the kitchen filling a rag with ice and trying his best not to just kill the teen in the other room so that he’ll finally be quiet. 

“No, no. I’m pretty sure it’s broken. Horribly mangled even! You might have to take the foot! Hell, who’m I kidding? The whole leg is gonna have to go, isn’t it? I’ll have to get a prosthetic. Oh  _GOD_! I’m gonna end up like Barbara Gordon- knocked down a peg at the height of my ability!” 

Derek comes back into the room and none-too-gently presses the rag up against Stiles leg, before moving to crouch in front of him. “No you’re not…. Barbara Gordon was much more successful than you are.” Stiles tenses for a moment but then a smile spills out across his features and he reaches out to swat at Derek. 

“Asshole.”

“Whatever, you know you love me.” Stiles only rolls his eyes, but stays quiet when Derek leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Requests? Strongly worded cease and desist letters? dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	7. Tumblr Request 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follower Requested-- "a young derek meets an even younger stiles in the woods and gets protective"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written at 3 AM. More kid!fic. I don't even--
> 
> This may or may not have entirely stemmed from the fact that buck-toothed Derek is my favorite Derek. :P

 

Derek was out on patrol in the woods surrounding his family’s house when he heard the noise. There was a rustle and snap, which could have just been a rabbit or dog, but then there’s a thud and unmistakable ‘Ow!’ 

Derek makes a beeline for the intruder, trying to remember what his dad had taught him about tracking and what Laura had said earlier about protecting their territory. He smiled to himself when he caught the foreign scent and started running towards it, happy for the chance to prove himself and make his family, his pack, proud. 

He could hear some sniffling and hiccuping from behind a bush, so he stopped and prepared himself for the intruder. Getting down on all fours, he charged through the bush and into the clearing, growling and baring his fangs (though they weren’t quite yet discernible from human canines and besides people were always paying attention to his buck teeth instead). 

A boy, smaller than him, probably in only first or second grade, was sitting on the ground, holding his knee and trying not to cry. The boy had the biggest brown eyes Derek had ever seen, and a funny nose that kinda turned up at the end. His lips quivered with the threat of tears and he had to keep wiping at his nose with the sleeves that covered his hands. Derek might have thought he was cute- if he wasn’t the enemy. 

Plus that was a girl’s word anyway. 

“What are you doing on Hale proprurtee?” He tried his best to sound intimidating, like his dad did when he used his Alpha voice, but stumbled a little over the last word. Stupid lisp, stupid teeth he groused to himself. 

“I-I-” the little kid looked around frantically and tried to fold in on himself even more. “I just wanted to ‘slpore. My dad says every p’lice man should know the land!” The little boy’s eyes went hard at that as though he were daring Derek to know any different. 

“Ya well, my dad says people aren’t thupposed to be here. ‘Specially not police men.” The boy looked like he was going to argue, so Derek took a few steps closer did his best roar. He smiled when the kid bit back his words, and stumbled back a little, but then he started to cry, really hard and then Derek didn’t feel so good anymore. His stomach felt bad and his mouth tasted icky like when he knew he’d done something wrong at school. 

The other boy tried to reign things back in, but he kept choking and hiccuping, and more tears kept coming. He looked embarrassed about it and scooted further away when Derek tried to come closer. “G-g-go away!”

Derek started wringing his shirt between his hands like he always did when he was upset, and stomped his feet at his sudden frustration. This isn’t how it was supposed to go! “I’m thorry! I didn’t want to make you cry!” He looked around nervously, wondering if any of his pack was close enough to hear that he had made a little human boy cry. He was pretty sure his dad wouldn’t be proud of that. Laura would probably shake her head at him and tell him to be nicer again. 

He could be nice! Really! He just didn’t like other kids ‘cause they made fun of the way he was always scenting things, and how he felt like howling sometimes, and his teeth. Stupid teeth. He hated how he wan’t allowed to tell them the truth, how he was doing those things because he was different. He thought they would think he was pretty cool if they knew he was a wolf and not some weird little kid. Then he got an idea. “Hey, hey! You wanna see thumthing cool?” 

This must have caught the boy’s attention because his sobbing began to subside and he tried to clear his eyes by blinking really fast. He looked like he was trying to decide if he was more curious, or more afraid, but after a few moments he started chewing on his sleeve and nodded his head. 

Derek couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face, or the way that he wished he could wag his tail right now, but he tried to play it cool and just nodded back. He wasn’t really a show-off, not like Uncle Peter was, but he was the youngest werewolf in the Hale house and so no one was ever very impressed with his tricks. He wanted to show someone what he could do without them just smiling politely and patting his head. 

He walked over to the nearest tree and looked for a really sturdy branch, then turning to make sure the kid was watching, he crouched down really low to the ground. He took a couple of deep breaths before pushing off and jumping straight up. He sunk his claws into one of the lower branches and swung so that he landed on the thicker one up high that he had spotted. “How’d you do that?!”

The little boy had sprung to his feet, scraped knee forgotten in the moment, and was looking up at Derek with something like adoration. Derek was practically vibrating with pleasure at seeing his reaction, so just to really impress him, he jumped off the branch instead of climbing down and landed right by him. This time the boy didn’t look scared, just really curious. Derek really, really wanted to tell this boy, to show him everything he could do and he figured he did owe it to him… “Do you promise not tell anyone?”

The boy nodded his head excitedly, practically jaunting his whole body with it. Derek felt like jumping up and down, but instead he just grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “I’m a werewolf!”

The boy’s eyes got even bigger and his mouth fell open. Okay, this time Derek knew he wasn’t a bad guy, and he didn’t care if it was a girl’s word- he was cute. “Wow! Just like in the movies?” 

“Well, kinda, but they don’t get everything right.” Derek took the boy’s hand and started to lead him even further into the forest, hoping to find somewhere he could show him even more cool things. “Who are you anyway?”

The boy fell right into step beside him, and swung their hands back and forth. “My dad’s the sheriff! Sheriff Stillinski!” 

“Tht-il-inth- Th-shtill- that’s hard to stay. What about just Thtiles?”

“Stiles?”

“Ya! Y’know, like everyone calls my uncle Pete instead of Peter.” The boy seems to think about it for a second before grinning and nodding enthusiastically. 

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Derek.” 

“That’s a cool name.” Derek squeezes Stiles hand as he guides him up a hill and further away from his house, for once forgetting all about his family. 

“Thanks, you’re pretty cool too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If successful authors are allowed to do this I am too, right? Right? dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	8. Tumblr Request 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follower requested-- "In his quest to find out about werewolf mating habits, Stiles accidentally makes Derek laught."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point in my life I may or may not have made it my mission to include mpreg in every fic request that was sent through my inbox... I was more successful and proud than I probably should have been. ANYWAYS.

 

Some days Derek is patient enough to listen to all of Stiles’ babbling and answer each and everyone of his questions, no matter how ridiculous they may be, with a calm, collected manner. Afterwards he’s usually rewarded with what Stiles so fondly calls sexytiems (though he isn’t allowed to say that before/after/during the actual sex). 

Today is not one of those days. Derek’s been stressed out with all of the pack issues that he’s been trying to shoulder while Stiles has been dealing with the whole werewolves-can-get-other-guys-pregnant thing. Usually an Alpha would lean on his mate with these things, usually a mate handles just as much pack politics as the Alpha if not more. But since Derek kinda-sorta knocked Stiles up when Stiles didn’t even know that could happen, he’s been giving the kid a break. 

And really, he’s been proud of the way that Stiles has been handling it, usually with gratuitous amounts of jokes and sarcasm, but Derek’s caught the way that he sometimes stares at the baby bump that’s beginning to show, the way that he holds his stomach and hums a tune while just staring at their soon-to-be cub. It’s all sickeningly sweet, but Derek could use a little sweet in his life. 

Just maybe not right at this moment. 

“Will he have fur? I mean like, is he going to be wolfed out all the time, or just when he gets angry? Are babies angry during the actual birth? Oh God, what if they are and he wolfs out and like-  _claws_  at me?” Stiles pantomimes a rather disturbing image while pulling a face, but when he brings his hands back down, the unconsciously come to rest on his stomach. 

“Are you sure we couldn’t just kidnap a real doctor and make him deliver the baby? Not that I don’t trust your vet buddy, but I’m pretty sure a were-child and puppies aren’t  _that_  similar.” Derek’s only really been half listening until now, mind elsewhere and a neither-here-nor-there expression on his face, but something about that last line just catches him and suddenly he’s laughing. 

Ugly, gut busting, snot producing, chest heaving laughing. 

“Ha. Haha. Hahaha?” Stiles looks at him like he’s gone and blown a fuse, but Derek can see that glow in his eyes that he gets whenever he makes someone genuinely laugh, especially when that someone is Derek. 

“I’m gonna guess that means no on the doctor thing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware how tacky and low-brow my self-promotion is. If you'd like to let me know just /how/ tacky, feel free to visit me at dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	9. Tumblr Request 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower requested-- "BAMF!Stiles saves Derek’s life and Derek repays the favor by…. (fill in the rest) :D"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo.... remember how I said at one point that I tricked all my followers by randomly inserting mpreg where it had no right to be? Ya.....

“Soooo… remember that time when Kate shot you, and you were withering away, and I took care of you the  _whole_  day, and let you be unreasonably physically abusive, and even almost cut off your arm  _at your request_?”

“Stiles- what did you do?” Derek grits his teeth and rubs at the bridge of his nose, wondering just what exactly the other boy could have gotten into now. 

“Welll…. you know the other day when I asked you why I wasn’t allowed in the guest room anymore and you just told me that the only thing I needed to know was that I wasn’t allowed?”

All Derek can do is sigh, knowing that the exact moment those words had come out of his mouth, he had sealed his fate. Telling Stiles he wasn’t allowed to enter the room was like putting a flashing neon sign on the door. “You went in there didn’t you?”

“Uhm…. define in.”

Derek took a deep breath before turning around and seeing Stiles’ happy/nervous face. “I’ll let you live, just this once. Since you saved my life.”

“And not because a grown man having a nursery, but no baby would be awkward right?” Derek just shrugs but can’t keep back the smile as he lays his hand on Stiles’ stomach and kisses his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert snarky, self-deprecating comment here* dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	10. Tumblr Request 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower requested-- "Derek likes getting his belly rubbed by Stiles"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was ripe for the mpreg picking-- which is why I didn't put any in it. :P What kind of asshole would I be if I went and did something predictable like that? :P

Stiles discovers it by accident, hands roaming idly as the two of them watch Scrubs re-runs and share a rare moment of quiet intimacy. His fingers rub down over Derek’s  _ridiculously_  amazing abs and the older boy subtly tries to follow them as Stiles moves to pull away. 

Eyebrow cocked, but trying not to let on, he hitches Derek’s shirt up with his legs, feigning restlessness before brushing his fingertips over the exposed skin. Derek lets out a quiet kind of whine and wriggles in his spot between Stiles’ legs, the back of his head resting on Stiles’ chest. 

He tries not to laugh, really he does, but when he rakes his nails down over that entrancing six-pack, Derek’s leg twitches so violently neither of them can ignore what’s going on now. 

Stiles expects to have his throat ripped out, or at the very least be tossed from the couch, but all Derek does is sigh before looking up at him imploringly and cocking his head to the side. 

Stiles most certainly  _does not_  find himself whispering ‘good boy’ throughout the night as Derek does everything but loll his tongue at the other boy’s ministrations. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come watch me battle my own procrastination and fail miserably. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	11. Tumblr Request 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follower requested-- "SF AU where Marcus wins Esca in a game of poker ;)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time I totally missed the obvious meaning of an abbreviation and therefore wrote completely the wrong thing for one of my favorite people? Ya... Good times.

 

The guy’s been robbing Marcus’ poker buddies blind all night and while it sure as hell was entertaining at first, it’s beginning to get a little out-of-hand. 

No one had given a second thought to letting the over-eager kid with wide eyes, big ears, and a crooked smile a crack at this  _men’s_  game. 

Three hands and $200 later everyone was starting to wish that they would have. The crooked smile seemed so much more telling now than it had before, and as guys starting losing watches and rings Marcus decided he should probably step in. 

He’d stopped playing regularly when people starting quitting out of intimidation before the hand had even been dealt. But now, he rolled up his sleeves put on his best poker face and strolled over to the card table, exaggerating his limp just a little.

Two could play at this game. 

Four hands and one flush later Marcus had won all the money back, plus a rather impressive pocket watch and the blue vest it had been snuggled in just for an ounce of humility.

“Alright. Clearly I’m a better poker player than you, but also I’m a bit of a better man so I’ll give you the watch back, for a price.”

The boy sneered, but looked at the sliver piece longingly. “I already told you I  don’t have any more money you prick!” 

Marcus tutted and wagged his finger at the boy but couldn’t keep the smirk from his face. “I don’t want your money. I want your name… and your number.”

It took a moment, but realization dawned and the kid’s eyes flashed. Tongue in cheek, he grabbed a napkin from the table and and scribbled hastily on it. “You can call me Esca.” Marcus quirked his lips and checked to make sure the number was real. Satisfied when he dialed and a chirping came from Esca’s pocket he handed over the watch. “And the vest?”

“Nuh-uh. The vest is my insurance.” Marcus winked as the boy shook his head and walked away, perhaps putting more of a sway in his hips than usual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I write things. Mostly I cry and eat my weight in chocolate. Either way it's always morbidly entertaining. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	12. First Line Ficlet 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted-Radical Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once upon a time I was real fond of doing this thing where I took the first line of a song that I really, really liked and used it as the first line for a ficlet. 
> 
> It was challenging and fun, but no one really seemed to like it and I quit. Maybe I'll start up again now that I have a place to put them....

 

I can hear the car as it rumbles up the driveway, but I’m too scared to look, so I curl up beneath the window and I pray they won’t find me, and I pray that I’ll keep still.

I know what they’re going to tell me and it’s something that I can’t hear right now. 

It’s been all over the news, I know what’s happened, I know the truth. 

It’s finally happened- that moment that I’ve been dreading, but that we both knew was inevitable. 

He’s gone to be with her now, and I suppose that should give me a sense of happiness, but they left me here alone. 

A parent should never have to bury their child they say. 

But that’s just bullshit. 

What happens when a child buries both of his parents? 

What happens when he’s forced to be an adult years before he’s ready?

What if they leave him all on his own?

I can feel the panic attack coming on- the constricting terror so familiar, but sharper and more intense than I remembered.

It’s different this time and it’s clear to me why. 

But I cannot stop it from happening. 

That’s why it’s called a panic _attack._

And then he is here, with his hand on my shoulder, and concern in his gaze.

It doesn’t stop hurting, but it doesn’t feel like drowning anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These one-liners are harder to write than you'd think. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	13. First Line Ficlet 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shine On- The Kooks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're tiny, I know. And mostly in first person, but they're oh so much fun.

Safety pins holding up the things that make you mine.

They line the walls of the rickety shed out behind the house. 

I’ve still managed to keep at least this one place secret from you, though I imagine that you’d get a real kick out of finding it. 

For now, this place is singularly mine, but the fact that it’s filled with things that remind me of you surely must say something. 

Sometimes I come out here and spend a while sifting through them all, lingering to catch the scent of one or another and remembering why I kept it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you say my name three times in a water-stained mirror, a box of tear-soaked Milk Duds will mysteriously appear. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	14. First Line Ficlet 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moon is Down- Radical Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to these songs. Let them change your life.

There ain’t no moon tonight- it’s hard for me to see, but if I can catch a glimpse of you it helps me feel at ease. It helps me sleep.

It’s difficult for me to admit, but having your stupidly attractive, lurking figure outside my window helps me to breathe. 

I just like knowing that someone is out there, worrying about me. 

It’s been so long since I’ve had someone in the house with me while I slept. 

Though you’re technically outside, I know that your thoughts are in here with me. 

This place doesn’t feel so empty and sad anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I write fics, post them in this endless abyss, and nobody reads them, are they still awful? These questions and more answered at dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	15. First Line Ficlet 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Soul- Yael Naim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my fav's. I can't help myself-- the red thread trope? Like crack to me.

I’m a new soul, I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit about how to give and take. 

The people here are so complex, so rich and strange. 

I can hardly understand the things they do and the thousand and one reasons they have for doing them, but I find myself charmed nonetheless. 

Each one is a bright spot in this dark place, each one glowing a completely unique and indescribable color of their own. 

Thin strings, barely visible, tie them all to one another, each person belonging to someone and having someone that belongs to them. 

There’s one tied to my finger, pulsing soft and warm. 

I cannot touch it, cannot try and follow it- untangle it from the mess of all the others, but it’s leading me somewhere. 

To someone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your red thread leads to dream-tempo.tumblr.com *nudge, nudge* *wink, wink*


	16. Fanart Ficlet 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, High School AU? ~Le gasp~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [carg](cargsdoodles.tumblr.com) over on tumblr has this AU called the sweatervest!verse that I used to write for on occasion. You should check it out. ^^

Sherlock often found that at any given moment in time, he could give his surroundings a cursory glance and find at least a quarter of the passing populace staring at him with anxious expressions marring their features in a most unseemly fashion. He had never given it much thought- after all there were far more puzzling things to look after. The latest situation that had garnered his attention actually surprised him in the respect that it actually occurred within this slow-paced school system.

As of late, ever since they had somewhat reluctantly become lab partners, the captain of the football team had made a point of being aggressively uninterested in whatever Sherlock was doing. Although anyone with a proper brain could tell that he was  _very much_  interested in  _everything_  that Sherlock was doing. Out of all the people that had made a habit of staring at him, John was the only person that Sherlock actually paid any mind to.

John Watson was…. interesting. 

Despite his attempts to weave himself into the fold of all the regular high school students here, Sherlock thought he was anything but. There was just something about the smaller boy that made Sherlock want to study him. Thoroughly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing sometimes accompanies actual contributions to fandom. You should keep an eye out. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	17. Fanart Ficlet 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moar Johnlock?! Wowza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more sweatervest!verse fic.

Though John would never care to admit it aloud, he’d come to term with it inside the safety of his own mind. Sherlock Holmes was, quite simply, the most fascinating person he had ever met. 

The kid was arrogant, rude, and completely socially inept. But he was brilliant!

There was just something about him that John couldn’t help but find charming. Perhaps it was the deceptively adorable curls that covered his head, or the way his whole face lit up when he had one of his many epiphanies throughout the day.

Whatever the case John always found himself watching the young genius from across the field, talking to himself and making wild hand gestures- too busy to be participating in any of that “physical education nonsense.” The boy was naturally thin and tall, a little gawky at this age, but John was certain he would grow into it eventually. 

Tall, pale, handsome, and witty. If John would ever have had a type, Sherlock defined it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encourage me to write more! Or just stop altogether. Whatever tickles your fancy really. dream-tempo.tumblr.com


	18. Fanart Ficlet 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiel High School AU? Blanket Forts? First kisses? Ohhh myyyy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very, very occasionally an artist draws things for my fics and not the other way around. [Carg](cargsdoodles.tumblr.com) is one of those few. Go shower her with love for me will ya?

 

The light streaming through the holes that pepper the ragged blue blanket above their heads cover Castiel’s body in uneven clusters of bright spots. They look like a map of the stars laid out across his body and Dean has the nearly uncontrollable urge to trace them with his lips. Here, in the heated bubble of their blanket fort (which is NOT entirely too childish for high school seniors) it seems as though they are in a world of their own. 

Cas seems to sense his stare and rolls onto his side to return the gaze. The light catches the blue of his eyes and Dean is caught off guard by the technicolor hues that seem to explode within his irises. His breath catches in his throat and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck. Cas only looks at him with quiet curiosity, his head tilting and a small frown pulling at the corners of his lips. 

Somewhere outside their haven the tinkling of a piano can be heard and he vaguely remembers Cas urging him to listen to a new band he had discovered- Radical Face or something like that. Usually he gives the other boy all kinds of shit for his eclectic tastes- mellowed out indie bands populating the majority of his cd collection- but the music seems…. fitting and he is grateful for the small break in the silence. He’s certain that without the man’s gentle voice coming through the layers of blankets muffled and muted, Cas would be able to hear his heart racing. 

His hands and feet twitch at their proximity and he itches to close the space between them. Their breath already mingles just inches from their faces- adding a dampness to the heat gathering in the fort. “You want to kiss me.” Cas’ voice shocks him out of his reverie, the depth of his baritone increasing more and more over time. The sound of it, so quiet and close, is intimate and sends shivers down his spine. 

Everything in him says to get up and run, but he tries to calm himself, wetting his lips and turning the statement over in his mind. The way that Cas said it was so plain and nonchalant, it makes the terror in his mind flow out with the breath he had been holding. Slowly, he nods his head, and with only a moment of hesitance, leans forward to close the gap.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shower _me_ with whatever you'd like. dream-tempo.tumblr.com (no-- that was not meant to be dirty, get your head out of the gutter... there's not enough room for mine with yours in it. :P)


	19. Ficspiration 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an effort to keep with a regular writing schedule, even if I can't make myself work on my WiP's, I've started another ficlet series based on pictures I've found on Pinterest because yes. 
> 
> Anyways! This one was supposed to be atmospheric and moody and immediately devolved into porn, which happens way too much to me. Sorry..... that I'm not sorry.

[ ](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/90142430016371613/)

 

It looks like it used to be a one-room school house—vaulted ceilings, open ground, small belfry. It might have been converted at one time for an older,  smaller parish, or the other way around, judging by the jagged bits of stained glass still stubbornly hanging to their window frames. Grass and weeds have grown up and through the floorboards making it seem more and less decrepit at the same time.

Dean crept on the balls of his feet across the splintered wood, though his boots were too heavy not to make some kind of noise, he still appreciated the atmosphere—recognized that here and now wasn’t the place for his usual brashness. The air is musty and damp against his tongue and the sun shining through the gaps in the walls only adds to the humidity.

A thin sheen of sweat has broken across his skin by the time he reaches the back of the building—front of the room—so he peels his plaid button-down off and ties it around his waist, grimacing at the dark semi-circles grotesquely visible against his shirt and beneath his arms. Dean takes an errant whiff, unable to help himself, and whistles low at the pungency.

Damn. Cas is watching from a slightly raised dais just ahead, propping himself up with one arm while the other taps a lit cigarette against his knee. Anyone who didn’t know him as well, who hadn’t seen him as close-up, as unguarded as Dean might not have registered the light amusement in his eyes, but he knows it’s there, feels a welcome chill run down his spine at it. Clearing his throat, he juts his chin aggressively at the other boy and smiles something wicked. “You like that, huh? Get off on a little man-stink?”

Cas pushes himself to sitting, only just keeping from rolling his eyes, but still letting out a quiet chuckle. He takes a long drag and lets the smoke curl lethargically out his mouth at its own leisure, allowing himself a slow once-over. “Why don’t you find me one and the two of us will figure it out.“ He shrugs a shoulder and grinds the butt into the floor, eyes glowing, “Afterwards, you’ll be the first to know.”

Dean grabs at his chest and makes a pained face, all the while sauntering ever forward. “Why d’ya hurt me so bad baby?” Cas visibly preens at the pet name, but tries to school his face back into impassiveness the closer Dean gets. “I know you want me. _You_ know you want me. Why keep pretending?” Dean stretches his arms over his head and cracks his neck, now able to see that Cas’ eyes do actually flare with heat at the obvious sweat and it makes Dean’s cock twitch at the acknowledgment.

Deciding to push his luck, he continues on to popping his spine, hands pressed in the small of his back as he arches and his too-tight shirt rides up the reveal his slightly soft, mildly hairy stomach. Dean’s not ashamed to admit he feels his tip get wet when Cas unconsciously licks his lips, frame leaning forward. “The body of a boy, the ego of a man, the finesse of a jackass—what’s not to love?” Cas doesn’t move forward, but he doesn’t move back either, so Dean continues until he’s just inches away, looming over the other boy.

“I think you got that backwards baby.” Dean unabashedly pushes a hand up under his shirt to rub wide circles against his own skin, hem catching in the groove of his thumb and lifting. “I may have a boyish charm, but this body aint like one of your hairless, meatless twinks.” Dean may have been self-conscious about his thick thighs and solid frame through middle and early high school, but he’s grown into it—stands ripe and sturdy against other boys’ chicken legs and concave chests. “C’mon, just tell me you want it. Tell me you want me.”

Dean practically crawls forward, sinking into a crouch and stretching himself out over Cas in the most predatory way he knows how. Their eyes are locked, tips of their noses brushing, body heat pooling between the two of them, and all Dean needs to hear to close the remaining distance is that little admission. He all but lays himself between Cas’ thighs, bracketing his torso with his arms.

When he speaks again he can see Cas’ face twitch where his hot breath ghosts across the other boy’s skin. “Say it. Say you want my hands on your ass and your tongue on my tongue. Say you want my cock on your lips, your cum on my thighs.” Their stomachs are sticking together where their shirts have ridden up and every other breath their chests bump. “Fuck. C’mon Cas, say it to me.”

Cas’ face breaks into a smile as his eyes burn defiantly. He looks half crazed with his hair sweat-tangled, his skin slick and sallow, his gaze hungry. He practically snaps his teeth at the air as Cas lays back down against the hardwood—a hand on the back of Dean’s neck taking the other boy with him. “Make me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come follow me on [tumblr](http://www.dream-tempo.tumblr.com) if you want to see more of the stupid day-to-day shit that I do and etc. Also, I'm quite likely to take prompts and be an overbearing friend if you message me over there. ;)


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